The Perils of Being Hamish Watson-Holmes
by Haylay114
Summary: When Lestrade leaves Molly with a baby she can't even look at, Sherlock and John take it off her hands. But as time crawls on, young Hamish learns that not all countries are as accepting as others, and karma seems to sympathize with him. Parent!lock fic.
1. Chapter 1

It started out a normal day in 221B Baker street for the world's only consulting detective and his flat mate/husband, John Watson. You know, the normal routine. John and Sherlock wake up [together, in the same bed, usually half-naked], John make tea, Sherlock sprawls across the couch, then works on a case while John goes to work in the clinic, the couple finish their work, eat dinner, watch some of their programs, go to sleep in each other's arms, and the cycle repeats the next day.

But, today didn't turn out as normal at it had seemed it would. Although just because it's not normal, doesn't mean that it's not the best thing that ever happened to anyone who ever resided in 221B Baker street.

* * *

Sherlock set off to meet Lestrade, with John following closely behind him. The curly-haired man hadn't had any work in weeks, and he was starting to worry- though, he would never admit it- that the police force no longer needed him.

At first, he tried not to think about it, but instead distract himself from the matter, whether it was playing his violin or shooting bullets into the wall. But after a week or so, he realized that his deductions were correct, and that he should investigate this mess immediately.

And so it was now that the inseparable pair arrived at Scotland Yard, one of the two about to scream with suspense as to why he was not automatically given something to work on.

But for once, Sherlock was wrong. It wasn't that the police didn't need him any more, it was that the police didn't need his boss anymore.

Instead of in the morgue at Saint Barts, Molly Hooper was sitting in Lestrade's chair, at his desk, silently crying and not so silently throwing his possessions on the floor.

"He hurt you", Sherlock immediately deduced. "I'm not sure how, I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure exactly what it was that he did, but he hurt you."

Molly looked up, her nose red and eyes puffy, filled with tears.

"You don't have to be a detective to figure that one out, now, do you?" Molly said as she attempted to laugh, but instead whimpered and made a noise that no human should ever have to make. "Molly, dear, sweet Molly", John said, also on the verge of tears, "what did he do to you?"

Sherlock, being the genius he is, stepped out of the room, without John even having to say anything to him.

The doctor pulled up a chair next to the weeping woman, and put his hands on her shoulders, which made her pull away instantly and cry even harder. "Tell me, Molly. If you bottle it up, things will only get worse. Trust me, I know."

Sniffling, she lifted her head up from the now empty desk, and wearily, quietly began telling her story.

"We were on a date. Greg and I, I mean. Things were going great, and I was ready to take him home, to, you know...But then, we turned a corner, and he changed. He suddenly got really angry, with me, with the world, with everything. But mostly with me." She started to tear up again, but she struggled on through her story.

"He started hitting me, spewing out insults, then apologizing, telling me how hot I looked, stroking my cheeks. I tried to run, but he had a tight grip on me. I screamed, but there was no one around to hear me. Then, he- he pushed me down onto the concrete, pulled my panties off, and..." By now, she was in hysterics.

"He raped you?" Sherlock said as he entered the room, clearly eavesdropping the whole time, and probably wishing he hadn't. "And that's not even the worst part!" Both John and Sherlock had a look of pain and worry on their faces by now. "How can it be any worse?" John said in horror. "She's pregnant", Sherlock answered.

The next ten minutes was filled with painful, awkward, empathetic silence, until Molly said, "He killed himself, you know. I would too, if I had permanently traumatized somebody who thought they loved me. But now, I'm all alone with a baby in my stomach and a good chance you two might be seeing it in the morgue, along with me. I just can't do it. Not his baby. I know it sounds selfish, but I want nothing to do with it. It's just too painful, having to look at Greg's spitting image every second of every day and I hate myself for not being strong enough to keep it."

"Don't hate yourself, Molly", Sherlock said in the kindest, gentlest voice John had ever heard him use, "It's not your fault Lestrade was just as bloody stupid as Anderson. And, if you decide not to abort it, well..." John gave Sherlock a look, and he returned it. "Should you proceed to birth this child, Sherlock and I would be happy to take it in as our own. Since we can't exactly have our own biological baby, this is the next best thing. Of course, only if you choose to keep it."

By now, Molly was even more hysterical than before, but this time, it was cries of happiness. "Looks like you've got yourself a baby", she said to the two.

**A/N: Hi! So, this is my first parent!lock fic, hope you liked it. I've learned from experience to never promise a date that I'll have the next chapter done, as I'm a champion procrastinator. But, I'll try to update as often as I can. I'll only continue the story if people respond to it, though, as I would hate to write a beautifully written story for nobody to see. I live in the US, so if I get anything wrong about the UK, please let me know! Bye for now, Sherlockians :D**


	2. Chapter 2

Eight months later, Sherlock and John were waiting outside of Molly's hospital room, just minutes away from seeing their newborn son. Though Molly thought she would want nothing to do with the child, she's grown fond of it, and realized that it was Lestrade who betrayed her, not this young bundle of joy who she decided to name Hamish. So, it was agreed upon that Molly would be able to see her son as often or seldom as she liked, and that's exactly what she planned on doing.

* * *

As the couple walked into the room, Sherlock suddenly realized how lucky he was that Molly used to fancy him. If he weren't gayer than gay for John, then he definitely would have devoted his life to Miss Hooper.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?", Molly said to the two. "He really is", John replied. Sherlock picked up the screaming, crying, but still adorable little baby boy, and did something very out of character- he started rocking his son back and forth.

"I think you'll make great dads", Molly complimented. "Molly?" "Yes, John?" "Thank you."

* * *

"Sherlock, the bath! It's overflowing!" A panicking doctor and stressed out consulting detective were running all around their flat, chasing a now three year old Hamish, occasionally falling or muttering foulness under their breath. "Daddah! Papa! Play tag!" "Hamie, we can play tag after your bath. You're filthy", an exasperated John said. This didn't work for Hamish.

But suddenly, Sherlock got an idea. "Oh, alright, we'll play. You're it, Hamie!" The child, being three years old, didn't seem to realize his father's plan, until it was too late.

Sherlock ran into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Just as he had planned, the toddler ran into the bathroom, totally unprepared for the traumatic experience that was about to happen: bath time.

"John", Sherlock said. The army doctor grabbed Hamish by the waist, quickly undressed him, and placed him in the tub. Obviously, their son was screaming bloody murder. But just as soon as it started, it was over, and Hamish wasn't happy about that.

In a matter of seconds, Hamish went from a deadly fear of the bathtub to unbreakable, unconditional love for the brief period of time in which he was surrounded by his own filth. As usual, he cried, but he got over it.

Sherlock and John were about ready to pass out, but Hamish wasn't. "Tag now?" Oh, crap, the two thought. They were hoping he would forget, but deep down, they knew they would be forced to give in to his whims if they wanted their son to fall asleep at a reasonable hour.

So, the world's only consulting detective and his army doctor husband engaged in a game of tag with their now squeaky-clean son, and it was the most fun young Hamish had all day.

* * *

John glanced at the time on his phone- 9:58. He could hear the shower running, along with Sherlock's singing voice. He walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and at that time, the only two sounds you would hear were the sound of a toothbrush grazing John's teeth, and a very deep voice singing, "Ah-ah-ah-ah...stayin' alive, stayin' alive...". John chuckled to himself, and upon hearing his husband, Sherlock immediately shut his mouth.

"You know, you really do have a lovely singing voice." "Oh, shut up", Sherlock said jokingly. John walked back to the bedroom, and not two minutes later, a half naked Sherlock was laying next to him, only wearing pajama pants and a smug grin.

"Why so pleased with yourself?", John asked. "Have you ever known me not to be impressed with myself? I mean, after all, I am a bloody genius." John chuckled again, and said nothing else as he wrapped his arms protectively around Sherlock and closed his eyes, drifting off into a slumber that lasted about ten minutes.

You could hear a pin drop in the flat, until Hamish starting bawling his eyes out for some unknown reason that is never discovered. John sighed, walked into Hamish's room, gave him his pacifier which he's probably getting too old for, and walked sleepily back to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock was making breakfast, and John was pouring a cup of tea into Hamish's sipee cup. When Sherlock put the bacon on the table, Hamish ate it all before the eggs were even ready, then proceeded to cry when there was no more. "Hamish", John whined, "that wasn't all for you. Now you're going to get sick." And indeed, he did get sick. Sherlock hadn't drained the grease from the bacon bowl, and Hamish, not knowing what it was, drank it all before either one of his fathers could notice.

So now, Sherlock was holding Hamish above the toilet, the baby was throwing up everything that was in his stomach, and John was looking for his medical supplies. When he finally found them, he waited patiently for Hamish to stop vomiting, then set him on the couch so he could examine his son.

After a series of sticking things in Hamish's ears, mouth, and nose, testing his reflexes, taking his heartbeat, pricking his fingers, and every other doctor-ly thing there is, John concluded that Hamish had food poisoning. Considering that the only thing he had eaten recently was bacon, he had Sherlock checked the garbage bin, and discovered that the bacon had expired seven months ago.

"Lots of rest, only let him eat bananas, rice, toast, and applesauce, let him throw up everything in his system, and keep him hydrated", John had said to Sherlock after the diagnosis. But Sherlock was very smart, and a huge pushover for Hamish, so he did the following: in exchange for extra naps, Sherlock had to be a little flexible when it came to meals. So, for the next two weeks, all little Hamish ate was banana splits, rice krispie treats, french toast with whipped cream and syrup, and sugary apple juice. Needless to say, this delayed his recovery.

* * *

Eventually, though, Hamish recovered, and he was back to normal, much to Sherlock's and John's dismay. Healthy Hamish means back to chasing, yelling, struggling, and overall stress. But guess what? Neither Sherlock or John would have it any other way.

* * *

**A/N: Ayyye. So, that was my attempt of chapter two. Again, if I got anything wrong about british-ism, let me know. I get the feeling I might have gotten the time wrong. Was it supposed to be 21:58? I don't know. Reviews would be awesome, if you like it, follow or favorite or both, and remember, I try to update as often as I can, but I'm not always able to. Ok, bye! :D**


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